Alice2015
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2014
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"Knowledge is Power"
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Abigail Freeman had fallen asleep. With her forehead pressed against the surface of the stainless steel table and her arms crossed in her lap below her bountiful breasts, she had been able to simply shut off her consciousness and forget the interrogation room, the endless questions from the Homeland Security Agents, and the desperate need for a cup off coffee.
She came to with the sudden knowledge of another desperate need, this time to pee. She stood from her chair and, as the Agent across from her began to open his mouth -- likely sensing another opening to grill her -- Abigail said, "Bathroom ... now."
"You need to start answering our questions first, Miss Free--"
"Bathroom!" she cut in. "Now! Or else."
The Agent in charge chuckled and asked simply, "Or else...? Or else what?"
Abigail returned his chuckle, then -- with slow, seductive moves and her gaze set upon the Agent's face -- pushed her short skirt up over her shapely hips, revealing the continuation of a large, intricate tattoo that they had already known snaked up her body from just above her knee; slipped her thumbs into the waist band of her tiny thong and pulled it down, revealing in place of the now absent patch of kinky curl pubes another pair of tattoos where that only a handful of men -- and women -- had ever seen before; stepped out of the panties and turned to walk away from the table, allowing them a full view of her shapely ass; then turned back to face the men as she squatted and took care of business with the men watching her, dumbfounded.
As the last sound of the tinkling ended, the other Agent turned to the man Abigail had been taunting for much of her 10 hours here and said wryly, "Okay. That worked."
The man departed, and a moment later -- shaking his head is humor -- so did the Agent in charge. Abigail wiped herself dry with the tissue she'd snatched from the box on the table before walking away, walked to the one way mirror -- behind which any number of people may have witnessed her protest, and pressed the wet tissue to the glass. It stuck there as she returned to her chair, pushed her skirt back in place, and returned to her sleeping posture.
She didn't know how much time passed before her subconscious told her something new was happening. She awoke and sat back in her chair, allowing her eyes to focus again. What -- or who -- she saw intrigued her. He was tall and masculine and attractive, and if they'd been at a club or rave or even in a park full of giggling children, Abigail would have wanted to fuck him then and there.
"I'm Abby," she introduced herself, as if he didn't already know exactly who she was and why she was here. "Who are you?"
After he introduced himself, she stood quickly and smoothed her skirt down her hips. She couldn't know whether or not he'd been beyond the mirrored window earlier when she'd pissed on the linoleum, so she gave him a moment now to admire -- or ignore, if he wished -- her shapely 38C-26-34 figure. She asked with the tone of a horny woman picking up a stranger in a hotel bar, "Wanna get outta here?"
She cocked her head as she studied his expression with a smirk. She laughed, then -- as she rounded the table slowly to eventually come to a stop just inches from him -- she said, "Listen, Mister Special Agent man. They want to know what I know. Knowledge is power. My daddy taught me that even before I began growing these."
She reached up and cupped her firm, youthful breasts for a moment. As she lowered her hands to her belly -- more of a caress -- she added, "If they want to know what I know ... they have to give me something I want first. And that means me getting out of here for a few hours ... with you."
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